The Candyman
by Andraiyel
Summary: Because the Candyman can.  TomxBill Kaulitz, Tokio Hotel, AU


A/N:

Categories: Slash  
Characters: Bill Kaulitz, Tom Kaulitz  
Genre: Alternate Universe, Twincest - Not Related  
Main Pairing: Tom/Bill  
Warnings: WIP

Warning/characters/genres will be added as the appear in each chapter

* * *

On days when the large, orange-shaped sun would rise in the hot, cloudless, midsummer sky painted a dazzling blue of sorts, children would awaken early to the heated rays kissing their sweet, innocent faces through shaded windows. Blinking away the remnants of the sandman's sleep-inducing faerie dust, they would slide out from underneath the thin sheets covering their beds for the heat of the season, stretching their small hands to the ceiling and greeting the fresh new day with a generous yawn.

From their pajamas they would slip, in favor of something much more appropriate for the outside world: white cotton dresses and butter yellow blouses for all the little girls, faded blue shorts and brightly colored t-shirts emblazoned with sports' team logos and witty phrases for all of the young gentlemen.

Upon realizing the lack of schooling for the next couple of months, their eyes would alight with joy only small children could posses - their lips spreading to reveal a toothless grin that would melt the heart of any elderly grandparent, their developing minds racing as they imagined all of the magical possibilities for the day, hearts fluttering in anticipation.

Little feet would thump down the stairs and then patter across the linoleum floors of kitchens across the town, all eager to lay their eyes upon the meal that would be set before them once they climbed into the chair before their table. Almost the entire town, from east to west, south to north, would be settling in front of a table laden with breakfast goods – waffles soaked in sweet butter, pancakes drowned in sticky, cloying maple syrup, eggs of all different styles, from benedict to scrambled, deviled to sunny-side-up, and there were links of sausage, hot right off the skittle, bacon soaking plates in grease, French toast topped with powdery white hills of sugar, potatoes browned to perfection and salted to heart disease-inducing standards, thick slices of ham, toast layered in large pats of butter, everything and anything that a child could ever dream of eating in the early morning light of the kitchen.

Mothers dressed in light dresses of cotton and frilly aprons bordered with lace would sidle up alongside their feeding brood of children, refilling plates, pouring pitchers of milk and various juices into waiting glasses. Their red stained lips would part to expose pearly white teeth, perfectly aligned and shining. "Eat up, eat up!" they would say with robotic smiles on their faces, greeting their husband with a chaste peck to the cheek as he would descend the stairs, passing him a mug of coffee.

And eat up the children would do, wolfing down every morsel knowing that it was one mouthful closer to the freedom of summer air and baseball games in the park and hide and seek in the neighboring yards.

Fathers would sit at the head of the table, sipping their coffee and perusing the newspaper in search of the sports section so they could find out what teams would be playing in the baseball game that night. Their gaze would leave the paper only momentarily to glance at their wife, signaling them for more coffee, but other than that they were oblivious to the world around them – especially the overly excited children scheming for the day.

The women would clear the table and rinse the dishes, the mothers then shooing the children from the kitchen so they could tidy up after the meal. Children, eager to flee the constricting household in favor of the park or the pharmacy, would then cling to the pant legs or the shirt of their father, begging and pleading for just a dollar of spending money. They would bribe their father with manual labor or sweetness, making their eyes large and round and pushing out their lower lip until he conceded and pulled out his wallet. When the worn bills were raised from their leather encasing, the small hands across the town would reach up and snatch them, the girls planting a sugary kiss on their father's cheek, the boys hollering a thank you in his general direction as they bolted through the door.

Where would they go? What would they do on that perfect, picturesque day? Well, a number of things! The young boys would run to meet each other and begin a game of catch or football. The young ladies would skip to their normal meeting places, pulling out the skipping rope or handing out the roles for a wholesome game of house. Together, they would go to the drug store to buy an ice cream soda from the fountain man with their allotted money or they would all play tag or hide and seek, running through the neighborhoods and the town, basking in the summer sunlight and the innocent sounds that coincided with the season. There were a number of things one could find the children doing and anywhere a person went, the games would be different from one group of children to the next.

However, there was one thing that all the children held dear to them that was the same from one child to the next; one thing that they all were quite familiar with and thought of fondly. This one thing was somewhere all the children knew the location of - from the moment they could walk or moved to the town, until the day that they were old and senile, close to death.

This one thing resided in the downtown of our pleasant setting, in a quaint two-story brick building wedged between others of similar outward description, behind shined glass looking windows and glossy marble counters, among shelves and shelves of brilliantly colored, sugary confections of all different sizes and assortments. This thing lived and breathed chocolates and gum drops, lollipops and licorice of all different flavors, marshmallows as soft and fluffy as the clouds that rarely graced the blue skies of the town and caramels, gummy animals of all shapes and rock candy of the clearest, crystalline sugar - blue, pink, purple, yellow – and lifesavers and pez, gumballs that were shined so one could see their reflection in them and jaw breakers, taffy and jelly beans of the most obscure variety – coffee, popcorn, ice cream, even various vegetables! And yet this does not even begin to justly describe the extent of what could be found in this candied wonderland constructed of sugar alone.

The children would crowd around this magical shop daily, with or without their parents. They would fix their small, grubby hands to the clear glass windows, when they did not have the money to enter the shop, and stare longingly inside. But not just at the candy, no, no. What could be found within the brick structure consisted of far more than simple treats of sugar and food coloring.

Because this thing - known as the Candyman to the residents of the pleasant little town – was a vendor of much more than just confectionary goods and cavities. This _Candyman_ was a dealer of dreams, a peddler of hopes and wishes otherwise unattainable. A salesman of anything the heart could possibly desire. This, the townspeople _knew_, yet did not openly acknowledge or even truly consciously know. For secrets are best kept in secret - something the Candyman had learned with trial and error, assumptions and mistakes, years of experience.

And it was all in a day's work.

Because he was the Candyman, and the Candyman can.


End file.
